


Inked

by seekingmoonscapes



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Maths Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Science Bros, Science Kink, Writing on Skin, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingmoonscapes/pseuds/seekingmoonscapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It began when the paper ran out. It finished with ink smeared over sweat-slicked skin, Tony Stark grinning beside him. There were worse ways to end a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inked

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a prompt from the Avengers kinkmeme, asking for a scenario in which Bruce writes equations on Tony's skin. It can be found here - http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/4305.html?thread=3165905#t3165905. If you are particularly taken with this idea, there are also a couple of other very good fills to be found on the same page.

He had known the small stack of paper wouldn’t have been enough, but it had been all that he could grab as Stark had physically dragged him to the sofa. The man himself was sat beside him, fingers absently tapping on a keyboard, one eye on the mute news still playing across the enormous TV screen in front of them. He didn’t seem to be doing anything particularly important, but Stark was the kind of man who could solve millennium problems with one eye on a TV screen, so rather than ask to borrow the laptop, Bruce just finished his equation on the nearest free space.

Bruce frowned down at his forearm, “Does this make sense to you?” he asked, angling the offending limb towards his companion.

Stark glanced down with a raised eyebrow, “Why are you writing on your arm?”

“I ran out of paper.” Bruce replied absently, “I only managed to grab a couple of sheets before you shoved me out of the lab.”

“It was a news report about us; I thought you’d want to see it.” Stark pouted. Bruce was unimpressed. Stark sighed. “Can you make it any clearer?”

Bruce glanced down at the scrawl and had to concede that it was pretty illegible. It was one of the side effects of living on the outskirts of the back of beyond where no-one needs to read your writing but you. “Yeah, sorry. Erm…” he muttered as hunted through the small stack of paper on his lap for space to jot down a neater version.

Stark beat him to it.

“Here.” Bruce glanced up to see an arm stretched out in front of him. Stark shot him an amused grin and Bruce responded with a smile that meant something along the lines of _yeah, alright_. His fingers wrapped around the warm wrist to hold it steady as he inked out his idea along the pale underside.

“Err…” Bruce said when he’d finished, “yeah, does that…? I think I’m missing something.”

“Hmm.” Stark pursed his mouth and plucked the pen from Bruce’s fingers. He made a few modifications to accommodate for temperature variants and Bruce almost swore at how obvious it was.  

“Oh. Yeah… sorry. Damn. That means I’ve done this wrong as well.” He muttered, rifling through his papers for the section he was thinking of.

Stark laughed sympathetically. “And that one,” he said, pointing to another alphanumeric string, “It needs to be…”. He tugged Bruce’s arm towards him and scribbled the end of his sentence across Bruce’s palm. The symbols tumbled over the edge, following the blue lines of veins down his wrist.  The touch took Bruce by surprise; casual yet intimate, fingers carelessly wrapped around his hand and the side of a palm sweeping across his skin as Stark wrote. It had been almost four years since anyone had touched him like that.

“Maybe you should call it a night.” Stark suggested when he’d finished.

Bruce hummed an agreement, still focused on his inked skin. It tingled a little where Stark had touched him.

“Or not.” Stark laughed and set his laptop aside. “Let me see then.”

Bruce looked up in surprise, “No, it’s OK, I can-”

“It’s fine.” Stark replied, “Developing a cure for a big, green, rage monster is much more interesting than what I was doing anyway.” Stark flashed him a grin that was impossible to refuse and pulled Bruce’s notes towards him. They were neater than the ones on his arm and it took Stark barely five minutes to flick through them, skimming over the half-formulated annotations and cataloguing the messy sums, jotting quick corrections over the equations Bruce pointed out. Once he’d finished, he pointed to the end, where things had gotten increasingly smaller in an effort to stay on the page. “So what do you say there?”

“Um… if you pass me the pen… cheers… I can try to make it more…”

“Just re-write it, it’ll be easier.” Stark’s clean arm appeared in front of him and Bruce’s eyes flicked to the laptop still sat on the couch where Stark had left it. He didn’t mention it; just said ‘okay’ and shifted himself round to a better angle.

The pen rolled over Stark’s skin haltingly, snagging a little as it reached the softer area near the elbow and he had to slow down, bending closer as he concentrated on the curves and points of his script. Stark’s breath rushed over his ear, warm and startlingly intimate and Bruce bit the inside of his cheek. He wondered if Stark had noticed the unusual proximity.

Before everything, Bruce would never have considered himself someone who would crave human contact; his sanctuary had been a lab, quiet and solitary. But years shifting from war zone to epidemic, living with a monster in his head, had left its mark. After keeping everyone at a safe distance for so long, there was something intoxicating in being close enough to breathe another’s air and feeling someone else’s pulse beat steadily against his thumb.

He finished the equations and glanced up to check Stark’s reaction. In the diming evening light, Stark’s eyes were that dark, intense brown that Bruce had come to associate with good coffee. “Looks like this could get a little convoluted.” Stark murmured, his gaze fixed on Bruce, “And we seem to be running out of space.”

Bruce tried to read Stark’s uncharacteristically serious expression, unsure whether to interpret that statement literally or as code for ‘You’re invading my personal space, back off’. Unfortunately, poker playing was apparently one of the billionaire’s many skill sets, so Bruce went for the cautious option, “Maybe I should call it a night after all; get back to it tomorrow with, you know, a computer.”

“Actually, I was kind of hoping you could expand a few points,” Stark replied quietly and realisation settled into Bruce’s mind with surprising alacrity.

 It was a bad idea. A very bad idea. And as someone whose previous ‘very bad’ idea had landed him with some truly spectacular anger management issues, Bruce really understood the meaning of a bad idea. However, the problem was, as said spectacular anger management issues could attest, Bruce was terrible at staying away from bad ideas.

***

Stark’s thigh twitched and quivered beneath his pen, and Bruce’s hand was shaking, and he was pretty sure that there was no mathematical equivalent to the hitches in Stark’s breathing, but line after line of it tumbled across Stark’s skin anyway. It joined the thesis that was slowly taking form across Stark’s body; the equations that circled the glowing arc reactor, followed the lines of his abdominal muscles and slipped down the curve of his hips; the sums that criss-crossed his hands and wrapped around his biceps; and the formulae that traced the tendons of his neck and marked out the contour of his left cheek bone (barely legible because he’d been caught by the heat of Stark’s gaze as he’d written them.) The TV was still on behind them, and as it flicked from scene to scene, the light played across Stark’s skin, throwing his features into sharp relief, then shrouding them in shadow.

Stark was watching him now, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, and Bruce was excruciatingly aware of his position, knelt between Stark’s bare legs, his pen slipping inside the loose opening of his boxers.

“I’m running out of space.” Bruce murmured.

 Stark was silent for a moment, before he leant forwards to reach for Bruce’s hands, guiding them to either side of his lap and pulling Bruce forwards so that they were almost level. “I think you’ve done enough.” He replied as his hands slid up Bruce’s arms and swept over his shoulders. One came to rest on his neck and the other continued up to curl into the tousled mess at the back of Bruce’s head as he lent in closer. Their first kiss was slow, lingering, and laced with heat. Their second was warm, wet and eager and when Stark pulled away Bruce almost didn’t let him.

He really needed to stop this.

A thumb pressed against his lower lip and Bruce’s tongue brushed along the edge of it, tasting sweat and musk and something a little bitter whilst Stark watched him with hooded eyes. He lasted a whole half a second before growling out a gravelly “Fuck, Banner…” that sent shivers down Bruce’s spine and hauling him back in. Their third kiss was hard and fast and furious, like Stark was trying to crawl inside of him, and Bruce’s hands clenched, smudging the fresh ink on Stark’s thighs.

His shirt disappeared, replaced by cool fingers that seemed determined to map every inch of skin they revealed, and Bruce felt drunk, or high, or nineteen again. He moaned when they found a nipple, even though he’d never been that sensitive there, even though now he was sensitive _everywhere_ , like every inch of skin was new and begging to be touched. Even his fingertips tingled as they swept greedily over the warm, soft, hard body that gasped and wriggled beneath them.

A hand delved back into his hair and the mouth he was kissing growled as he pulled up on to the couch. He settled onto Stark’s lap eagerly, one hand gripping the fabric beside Stark’s head as he pressed himself against Stark’s chest, making sweat well up between them. The cool metal of the arc reactor made him hiss, but Stark just kept trying to get him closer, one hand still in his hair and the other clutching at his hip, and Bruce groaned as he rocked upwards, his blood suddenly pounding around his body and heading straight for…

The dull throb started at the nape of his neck, and Bruce wrenched himself away, gasping.

“Wait, wait, wait… Fuck. Shit. Sorry, I...” Bruce collapsed halfway through his sentence, scrambling off the sofa and sinking back to sit on his heels, his cheeks stained with embarrassment.

“Jesus, Banner, talk about a cock-tease…” Stark panted, his face flushed and gaze unabashedly wanton. His body was still covered in smeared sums and, looking down, Bruce could see some had printed across his chest and many more had coated his fingertips in black.

“Banner…” He glanced up at the soft, coaxing tone and found himself staring at Stark’s flushed cheeks and dark red mouth, “Bruce, get back up here.”

Bruce shook his head slowly, shuffling backwards on his knees as though distance would somehow diminish his desire to comply. “Not a good idea,” he rasped, licking his lips. He could still taste Stark, slightly bitter, slightly sweet, and mixed with the salt of sweat.

“Banner, I don’t care if we have to go so slow it takes until morning. If you do not get back up here right now, I am coming down there.”

Bruce stared at him incredulously, “This is not a game, Stark, if I turn…”

Stark’s eyebrows rose, “Are you seriously telling me you can’t have sex?”

Bruce shook his head, and struggled for the right words to explain it, “No, that’s not-”

“Good.” Stark cut across him, and Bruce stared at him in surprise, but Stark ignored it. “Y’know, we’re both a little old to be rolling around on the floor, but if you’re going to be stubborn…” He shrugged as if to say _I guess there’s nothing for it_.

“Stark.” Bruce tried for reproachful but Stark was already pushing himself off the sofa and sliding to his knees, Bruce’s messy equations shifting with the muscles that stretched and tensed beneath his skin. Bruce swallowed dryly as he took in the sight of Stark crawling towards him, “This really isn’t…”

“You should probably call me Tony, considering the circumstances.” He grinned, coming to a stop barely an inch away, “And aren’t you supposed to face your fears?” The words ghosted over his mouth and Bruce closed his eyes against the shiver that sent down his spine before he forced himself to reply.

“Facing my fears tends to result in screams and debris.”

“I’m certainly up for the first of those outcomes.”Tony grinned filthily, in a way that promised the kinds of things Bruce had only dreamt about, and probably few that he’d never even known existed. “You really need to stop over-thinking things.” Two hands began to trail up his legs, thumbs dipping into the crease made by them pressing together and Bruce’s breathing stuttered when they stopped just short of where he wanted them.

“ _Tony,_ ” and somewhere between his mind and his mouth, the name stopped being a warning and transformed into something wanton and a little broken. Tony’s hands squeezed, his thumbs digging into Bruce’s inner thigh as Tony rested their foreheads together.

“I wanna blow you.” The words vibrated over his skin and Bruce inhaled sharply, suppressing the sudden rush of hunger triggered by the image of Tony’s mouth red and stretched as he swallowed him down. The hands on his thighs shifted a little further up and Tony’s thumbs began to trace small, maddeningly slow circles over the thin material of Bruce’s slacks. A strangled moan clawed its way out Bruce’s throat and all Bruce had to do was tilt forwards. Their fourth kiss was rough, desperate and practically singing with need as Bruce crushed Tony’s lips beneath his own, the last vestiges of his self-control torn into tatters. His hand tightened in Tony’s hair and bit into Tony’s soft bottom lip, making Tony growl in a low, interesting kind of way that made Bruce shudder.

He pulled harder, yanking Tony’s head back to press harsh, biting kisses down his throat, and his lips tingled with the vibrations of Tony’s moan. Tony’s fingers dug into his neck, blunt nails burning half-moons into his skin, dragging him closer into his warm, damp hollow. Skin, sweat and ink branded his tongue as he licked and sucked at Tony’s pulse point and then down over his collar bone. He tried to remember the equation he’d written there but the memory was lost in the fog that had settled over his mind.

“I guess I should have figured you as the domineering type,” Tony chuckled breathlessly, “it’s always the quiet ones.”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile and nipped him playfully, enjoying the way it made Tony’s fingers twitch. “Does that make you the pushy bottom?” The words came out rough and dark; he barely recognised his own voice. Tony seemed to appreciate it, pressing closer and dropping his head so that his lips pressed against Bruce’s ear. His voice fell to a silken whisper.

“I could be. Could hold you down while I rode you.” Bruce froze, his mind focusing on the image of Tony pinning Bruce’s wrists to the bed as he took what he wanted. The thought dragged a quiet, desperate whine from his throat that made Tony grin sharply. Bruce could feel the curve of it against his temple.  “How long do you think you could stand watching me fuck myself on your cock before you rolled me over and pounded me into the floor?”

Bruce’s eyes snapped wide and he was almost panting with want, “Fuck… Tony, _Jesus_ , you can’t-”

“Can’t what? Can’t say I wanna work you open, nice and slow, and watch you fuck yourself on my fingers until you’re begging me to screw you senseless?” Tony purred, his voice pure sin. Bruce shuddered and felt Tony’s grin grew wider, “Yeah? Wanna do that?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yeah, I wanna do that,” Bruce replied and, God, he sounded wrecked. Tony groaned, his head dipping lower to rest on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Might need to get to a bedroom for that. Need lube.” His hands slid back and forth along Bruce’s thighs as if that was all he could do to stop himself from dragging Bruce out of his trousers then and there and making do with spit. Not that Bruce would have been particularly adverse to that.

“Please,” was all Bruce could think to say and it came out embarrassingly broken. Tony’s sharp intact of breath was all the warning he got before he was hauled from the room. They ended up in a guest room, because it was the first one they reached when they stumbled out of the elevator, hands and mouths desperate to map as much skin as possible.

“Why am I not surprised that even your guest rooms are well-stocked?” Bruce panted out as Tony leaned over him to rummage through a bedside drawer.

“What can I say? I’m a fucking Boy Scout.” Tony replied with a wicked grin, already moving to finally divest Bruce of the rest of his clothing. “Christ, big guy; the name’s pretty fitting, huh?” Tony breathed and before Bruce had a chance to reply, he swallowed him whole.

“Holy shit!” Bruce yelped, his hand grabbing at Tony’s head, crushing his hair in his grip. He bucked up helplessly and Tony hummed around him in amusement before pulling off with an obscene pop.

“Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.” He rasped, looking up at Bruce with a strange mix of lust, glee and something that looked a little like surprise. His hands slid beneath Bruce’s spread legs, coaxing them wider as Tony sucked him back into his mouth, and even though Bruce was expecting it this time, the hot-wet of it still took his breath away. He tried to watch, his eyes wide as he took in Tony’s hollowed cheeks and stretched mouth, but his head kept tilting back involuntarily. The room filled with his harsh breathing and the quiet, wet sounds of Tony’s mouth.

Bruce barely noticed Tony’s fingers disappearing until they were back trailing cold lubricant over his skin as they slipped down to trace the cleft of his ass. Bruce rocked down against them encouragingly and was rewarded with a fingertip circling his hole, before dipping past the first ring of muscle.

“Yes,” he hissed, pressing down and feeling his body yield to the intrusion. Tony choose that moment to do something complicated with his tongue and Bruce swore as a shot of pleasure raced through him, shoving him dangerously close to the edge. He pushed at Tony’s shoulders urgently and Tony pulled off to stare at him questioningly. Bruce rose up onto his elbows “Sorry, it’s just… it’s been a really long time, and, well…”

Tony just grinned at him, “Yeah? From just a finger?” He asked, delightedly.

“It wasn’t just a finger,” Bruce argued dryly.

“But do you think you could? Because, damn Bruce, that’d be hot,” Tony pressed, sliding his finger in a little deeper and curling it upwards. Bruce exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering shut, and when he opened them again Tony was watching him with a dark gaze.

“Yeah, maybe.” Bruce admitted slowly, “I’ve done it… before.” He waved a hand half-heartedly to represent a time prior to the acquirement of his personal Mr Hyde.

“Fuck,” Tony replied eloquently, his voice shredded. He licked his lips and Bruce was fascinated by the sheen it left over their puffy, crimson surface. He swallowed slowly. His hands were still on Tony’s shoulders so he slid one into Tony’s hair to cup the back of Tony’s head and tug him back up. They kissed greedily, teeth snatching sharp, teasing nips and tongues fucking in and out of one another’s mouths like a cheap facsimile of the act.

Bruce’s heart was beating hard enough for him to hear it pounding in his ears and he had to swallow back the instinctual fear, remind himself that it wasn’t the same, his hands grabbing at Tony almost desperately. Bruce wasn’t sure if Tony figured it out or if he took the desperation for impatience, but Tony hummed quietly, and his finger began sliding back and forth. It was achingly, maddeningly slow and Bruce released a small moan into Tony’s mouth as he tilted and rolled his hips to get more of the feeling.

Tony grinned, getting drunk on his control, and stilled his hand completely.

“Tony,” Bruce groaned in frustration.

“Come on, Bruce,” Tony purred charmingly, “You’ll have to work a little harder than that.” His finger curled upwards again, rubbing back and forth inside him, searching. A whisper of a tingle shivered up his spine and Bruce inhaled quietly as Tony’s fingers found his prostrate. Tony smirked down at him, his pupils blown wide with just a thin ring of colour to break the contrast between black and white, and Bruce trailed his fingers over Tony’s flushed, inked cheek as the circling of Tony’s fingertip spiralled inwards.

The feeling built slowly. It began as a quiet thrum, like the deep, vibrating notes of a double bass, then swelled to the earthy, warm tones of a cello as Bruce’s breath turned ragged and his fingers grasped at Tony’s hair. Tony rested their foreheads together, gaze dark and steady, as he increased the tempo and the song slipped up an octave. There were violins now, their voices soaring high and brazen, and Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut as his groan joined the chorus. He rocked his hips helplessly, desperate for the friction.

“More, Tony, c’mon, I need...” He gasped and Tony’s free hand gripped his knee almost painfully.

“Jesus,” Tony exhaled reverently. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He pulled out until just the tip of his finger was still inside, and pressed another two in alongside it. It burned beautifully and Bruce had to remember to breathe. He drew in air like he was savouring it even as his legs shook and his hips twitched from the effort of resisting the ache of his cock, lying wet and swollen against his stomach.

Tony set a steady rhythm, the pads of his fingers pressing up against Bruce’s prostrate as he worked him open. Bruce tightened his grip on Tony’s hair and groaned into Tony’s gasping mouth as he matched the pace, thrusting down on every upward stroke. His skin was on fire and sticky with sweat. Droplets of it dripped into his eyes and pooled at the base of his neck where Tony would break away to lap it up, never ceasing the smooth, practiced flicks of his wrist. Each kiss, each lick, was interspersed with a litany of broken praise and promise, as though every stray thought was just pouring out of his mouth without control.

“So hot… Fuck, I wanna… could make you _scream_ … nice and deep and slow… just like that Bruce, that’s it… look at you, all stretched out around my fingers… next time I want. Fuck. Want _everything._ Want you to do it to me too. I’d let you… let you do anything. God, you’re so… you look so good like this…”

“Fuck, Tony,” Bruce moaned, grasping Tony’s shoulder with his spare hand, and planting his feet firmly on the mattress so he could shove down with a little more force. The fire on his skin seemed to burn hotter and his sweat was like lava trapped in the curls of his hair, bursting beneath his palms and dripping over his thighs. Tony’s mouth was biting at his neck, allowing Bruce’s low, rough cries to resonate through the room, escalating as the sensations built themselves to almost unbearable heights. He was so, so close. He just needed…

“No, no, no!” Tony exclaimed, catching Bruce’s wrist before he could reach his rigid cock. “Like this, c’mon, you can do it. I know you can. I wanna see it. Please, Bruce, come for me like this.”

Bruce groaned in frustration, his hips jerking without finesse as he slammed down onto Tony’s fingers and arching up into rake of them across his aching prostrate. He felt ready to break apart, the thin strings barely holding him together starting to fray as he gasped and bucked shamelessly on Tony’s fingers. Tony kept talking a steady stream of filth and adoration that Bruce couldn’t concentrate on long enough to actually understand. But the sound of it, high, fast and wanton, sent shocks through his blood and threw him soaring over the edge.

He came back to Earth panting, his throat dry, his finger tangled painfully in dark strands of hair and Tony rocking desperately against the dip between his belly and his hipbone. Tony’s face was pressed into the crook of his neck and he groaned loudly as he froze, his whole body taut as he spurted along Bruce’s torso, before going completely limp.

They gasped together, their breathing loud and harsh in the suddenly still room. Bruce’s fingers had loosened their grip and now he was petting Tony’s head weakly as he stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

“Well, that was…” He started before trailing off.

“Amazing? Mind-blowing? The hottest thing in the history of procreation?”

“Intense. I was going to say intense.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that too.” Tony rolled off and collapsed next him, reaching up to grab Bruce’s hand, still absently stroking Tony’s head, and interlacing their fingers. Then he flashed Bruce a grin, softer than usual and almost nervous. It crinkled the equation running in small rivers of ink and sweat around his eyes. “Soooo.” Tony drawled slowly, staring down at their hands, “We should do this again sometime.”

Bruce smiled back, his mouth widening into something bold and boyish. “How about tomorrow?”

Tony beamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to a_fic_a of livejournal for all the help given in the early stages of this fic. It was very much appreciated.


End file.
